


A Life Without Pain

by Hazel_Athena



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Additional tags to be added as prompts come in, Angst, But likely with happy endings, M/M, Whump, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-06-08 06:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15237726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: I caved and got a Bad Things Happen Bingo card. This is where the fics will be stored.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first of what will hopefully be many prompt fills. This one is for liggytheauthoress, who asked for Varaday and ‘cradling someone in your arms’.

Faraday’s first thought when the explosion lifts him off his feet is, _Oh fuck._  His second thought, following closely on its predecessor’s heels is,  _Well, at least I didn’t get shot this time._

His third thought, if he’d had time to form one between the point when the explosion first hit and when he smacks into the ground several feel away in a jumbled pile of limbs, would have been, _At least I’m not alone either._ Unfortunately, his brain’s too rattled by the impact to come up with much else, so instead he lays where he is in a crumpled heap, with the remnants of the blast still echoing in his ears.

It’s because of that echo, probably, that he doesn’t initially hear the frantic voice calling his name. Only when a pair of large hands settle on his shoulders and begin gently easing him onto his back does he start to put two and two together.

Vasquez’s face is panicked, his eyes wide and wild as he paws at Faraday’s sternum, no doubt in search of the horrible damage he’s expecting to find. Luck seems to have been with them again, however, because aside from the kind of aches and pains he knows are going to turn into _spectacular_ bruises, Faraday doesn’t think there’s a mark on him. Certainly he doesn’t feel at all like he did in Rose Creek.

The problem is, when he tries to tell Vasquez as much, no words come out. That’s likely due at least in part to his harsh landing, but it’s got much more to do with the fact that his companion won’t hold still long enough to listen to him. He’s prodding at every piece of Faraday he can reach, clearly in search of some ghastly wound somewhere.

Finally deciding enough is enough, Faraday gathers his wits about him, and grabs a hold of Vasquez’s vest, wrenching the outlaw around to look at him. “Vas!” He barks, and yep, his hearing’s definitely a little off kilter because that should not have sounded as muffled as it did. “Vas, calm down, would you? I’m alright.”

“Joshua?” His voice sounding as far away as Faraday’s own, Vasquez at last seems to clue in to the fact that he hasn’t come upon a dead man in the aftermath of this latest blow. “Oh, gracias a Dios. Gracias. Muchas gracias.”

Faraday knows enough Spanish to recognize repeated expressions of thanks when he hears them, but before he can try to convince Vasquez to relax, he finds himself gathered into a bone jarring hold. Vasquez’s arms wrap around him, and he finds his face mashed into the other man’s chest as he clings as hard as he dares.

“No vuelvas a hacer eso nunca más, por favor.” Vasquez sounds like he’s pleading as he whispers the words out into the now quiet afternoon air. “Rogaré si tengo que.”

“Vas,” Faraday croaks, patting weakly at his friend’s back, offering up what little comfort he can. “Vas, I’m alright, I swear, just a little banged around. Take it easy, muchacho.”

It’s that last word, drawled out in the worst accent Faraday can manage, that at last manages to break through. Hissing sharply, Vasquez draws back enough to look Faraday in the eye, but doesn’t release his grip.

“I thought you were dead,” he chokes. “I thought - I saw you lying there, the same way you were last time, and I thought, how could one man possibly survive the same thing twice? Surely, he must be gone this time.”

“Yeah, but I’m not just any man now, am I?” Faraday asks. Giving Vasquez his best crooked grin, he pats the man’s arm gently. “I’m okay, Vas.” He promises, his voice turning serious. “We both are.”

In fact, Vasquez’s eyes are bright in a way that suggests he’s decidedly not okay, but Faraday’s not about to make matters worse by pushing. Nor is he about to physically shove Vasquez away either. Settling back into the man’s hold, he relaxes against his chest, and resolves to take a moment to simply breathe.

“For the record,” he says after several minutes have passed with no sign of Vasquez letting him up anytime soon. “A man could get ideas from all this fussing you’re doing. There something you want to tell me, hombre?”

“No,” Vasquez grunts, but he’d be a fair bit more convincing if the word didn’t come out muffled thanks to the way he’s got his face buried in Faraday’s hair. “Shut up, guero,” he adds when Faraday starts snickering, “or I will leave you here in the dirt.”

“Likely be less stressful for you if you did exactly that,” Faraday admits. Then he winces when Vasquez reflexively tightens his hold. “Kidding, Vas. I was kidding. We can stick around here as long as you like.”

That’s not entirely true, of course. Eventually the others will be along, and no doubt they’ll want to see how their role in the latest mission had panned out. Then they’ll have to regroup and assess where everyone stands, check for injuries, find a campsite, etc.

However, no one’s here yet, and that changes, well. Vasquez is warm, his hold is strong, and Faraday can think of worse ways to pass the time. Far worse. Sighing, he closes his eyes, and lets himself drift.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second prompt fill. This one for roadgoesever-on-and-on, who wanted Faraday with damaged vocal chords. Hope you enjoy!

It’s trite to say, but it’s too quiet. Where normally there would be a steady stream of witty quips and cutting barbs emanating from the other side of the room, tonight there’s only silence, and it’s adding to the tension created by an already stressful day.

Vasquez can’t stop himself from occasional furtive glances towards his companion, as if some sixth sense is telling him he needs to keep physically looking over to ensure that nothing else has gone wrong. It doesn’t change things, of course. Faraday continues to stay where he is, reclined on the bed with his gaze canted up at the ceiling, but Vasquez catches him shifting once or twice, his body coiling in on itself like he doesn’t know what to do to pass the time.

“I’m sorry,” Vasquez says when he can’t stand the somber pall cast over the room any longer. The words practically echo once they’re out of his mouth, seeming to bounce from wall to wall with no reply being forthcoming.

At least not a verbal one anyway. Raising himself up onto his elbows, Faraday gives Vasquez a long look before quirking a single eyebrow inquiringly. It no doubt says a lot about how far they’ve come in the year or so since they’ve been traveling together that Vasquez is easily able to parse out what Faraday means by the expression, but at the moment it does nothing to make him feel any better.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, miserably now. He pointedly doesn’t look at the bandage wrapped around Faraday’s throat, the one that stands out so starkly, a white band laid over his sun kissed skin. “This was my fault.”

Faraday does make a noise at this; a kind of choked off grunt that comes out as a mixture of pain and annoyance. His eyes narrow when Vasquez instinctively opens his mouth to hush him, not wanting him to strain himself further, and one hand comes up in an irate jerking motion to forestall any additional apologizes.

That same hand shifts into a different gesture once it has Vasquez’s attention, twisting and turning in a way that shouldn’t make any sense, yet somehow does.

“Yes, it was too my fault,” Vasquez snaps when Faraday finally stops moving. “I was supposed to be covering you, and you got hurt because I let one of those bastard bandits slip by me.”

Now Faraday adds rolling his eyes to his repertoire of silent responses. Vasquez has never noticed until now just how much the man can convey with actions as opposed to words. He’s used to Faraday’s chattering being the first thing most people notice about him. Though perhaps that’s a deliberate move on the gambler’s part.

“I should have been paying closer attention,” Vasquez mutters. He kicks at the leg of the chair he’s sitting in. It’s an uncomfortable wooden thing, rickety and liable to collapse beneath him if he so much as breathes wrong, but he doesn’t feel that he deserves to share the more comfortable bed. Besides, it’s probably a bad idea for Faraday to be jostled in his current condition. “Leaving you to your own devices in the middle of a fight is never a good idea, it makes you do stupid things.”

Faraday scoffs. It’s a harsh noise, far more ragged than normal thanks to the injury to his neck that could have been so much worse than it is, but it nevertheless gets his point across. He’s unimpressed with the pity party Vasquez is throwing tonight, and he wants this to be clear.

“Don’t,” Vasquez replies, continuing to stew in his own worries despite Faraday’s thoughts on the matter. “That man had every intention of strangling the life out of you, and he very nearly succeeded.”

Faraday’s resulting shrug is down right philosophical, seeming to suggest that he could care less about this.

“I know he didn’t manage it,” Vasquez says when the other man taps his throat with a single finger. “That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about him trying.”

Faraday sighs at his words, looking momentarily exasperated until his expression shifts yet again. Giving Vasquez a sly grin, he points a finger at him, and then draws the same finger across his throat in a cutting motion.

Vasquez heaves a sigh of his own. “Yes, I know I killed him first,” he says. “I was there, thank you.” He shrugs. “That doesn’t do away with my mistake however.”

Faraday makes a face that suggests if it doesn’t do away with said mistake, it at least makes them even. Then he leans back into his pillows, motioning to Vasquez with one hand.

“What is it?” Vasquez asks, sitting up straighter when he sees this. “Do you need something?”

Faraday starts to shake his head, and then changes his mind partway through. Thumping his hand down on the space next to him, he stares at Vasquez until he gets his meaning.

“No,” Vasquez says the moment he clues in. “You need to rest and let your throat heal. Otherwise you risk having your voice not come back, and then where will you be? I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Faraday gives him a look that suggests he’ll make sure Vasquez regrets such a move. Smacking the bed more forcefully, he holds Vasquez’s gaze until he slowly starts to rise.

“Not a word,” Vasquez cautions as he crosses the space from chair to bed, and carefully settles down in the spot Faraday’s left for him. “If you try and talk, I’ll go find somewhere else to sleep, and send one of the others in to watch over you. Red maybe, or perhaps Billy.”

Faraday makes it clear through his expression just how little he cares for this idea. Then he lays back, and rests his hands on his stomach, genuinely appearing at ease.

Vasquez watches him for a while, on high alert at first, but then slowly, oh so slowly, starting to relax. He still feels guilty, and suspects he will for quite some time - at least until Faraday’s able to speak again - but the fact is that the worst didn’t happen, meaning they’re both alive to see another day.

“I’m still sorry,” he murmurs, right before he feels himself about to drift off. It’s the first thing he’s said in a while, and just before his eyes slip shut, he feels two fingers brush against his arm in quiet thanks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For roll-the-maps, who requested Varaday and caught in a storm :)

The sharp crack of the latest round of the thunder echoes out into the night, followed almost immediately by a bolt of lightening that lights up the night sky and causing a bunch of twisted shadows to spiral across the top canvass of the tent. Huddled miserably beneath it, Faraday burrows deeper into his travel blanket, trying to convince himself it could be worse, he could be out in the rain as well. At least inside the tent is dry.

Unfortunately, the thought does little to help him. An unintended consequence of the mad charge he’d made against the Gatling gun in Rose Creek - one he’s so far made a point of never discussing with anyone - is that he no longer has quite the affinity for loud noise that he once did. 

Some he’s better with than others, gunfire for instance rarely bothers him, so long as he has a rough idea to expect it, but something like this? A heavy boom that he can’t predict where or when it’s going to strike? That’s enough to rattle down into his bones, and then keep right on sinking, burying itself into his very core.

He hates it, of course. Utterly despises it, really. He’s never been a man to handle feeling weak well, and there’s nothing that makes him feel more weak than a fear he can’t control. It’s enough to leave him fit to burst at the unfairness of it all.

To add insult to injury, his companion seems like he’s sleeping the sleep of the just. Curled up with his back to Faraday, Vasquez is rolled into his own blanket, so solidly asleep that he’s snoring half as loud as the godforsaken thunder.

In actuality it’s hardly that bad, but Faraday’s in no mood to be generous, and he’d give just about anything to be able to sleep through this mess. Safe away in dreamland, he wouldn’t have to worry about hearing it and being abruptly catapulted back into the fields he’d very nearly died in. He’d had enough nightmares during his recovery and recuperation, he doesn’t need more of them now that his wounds have finally healed.

Another blast of thunder sounds out, causing him to clamp his hands over his ears without thinking about it. Hissing through his teeth, he calls himself multiple different kinds of pathetic in his head, deeply ashamed of his behaviour.

Even worse, though, is the tiny voice percolating in the back of his brain. The one that tells him there’s at least one thing he could do that might help the situation. Embarrassed, he sternly tells it to shut up.

Because that’s just his luck these days, the voice does nothing of the sort. If anything it gets louder, stating more insistently that there’s a source of comfort mere inches away, if only he can work up the nerve to reach out and ask for it. 

He wonders, sometimes, if he really has gone soft. Time was a night like tonight would see him out here all alone instead of tucked away safely with one companion at his side, and five others settled in in their own sleeping arrangements with four more tents clustered around the one he and Vasquez are sharing. Hell, once he’d‘ve been sitting up watching the storm, idly smoking a cigarette or shuffling his cards as the elements had done as they pleased. He certainly wouldn’t have had the tent lashed as tightly shut as possible in a poor attempt to muffle the noise from outside.

Yet another round of thunder takes place, and Faraday’s too busy being miserably lost in his own head to notice that it’s no longer accompanied by the other noise that’s been keeping him company for the past however long. It’s only when he feels someone press up against him, and a familiar arm stretches over his waist that he realizes Vasquez has woken up.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, trying and failing not to sound as tense as he feels. It’d probably work better if the words weren’t coming out through clenched teeth.

“Can’t sleep,” Vasquez mumbles, and Faraday’s mildly surprised when one of the lightening bolts doesn’t strike the man down for such a boldfaced lie. “Storm’s too loud.”

“Is it?” Faraday asks, his voice all but dripping with false bravado. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Mm,” Vasquez replies, and Faraday wonders if he’s still half asleep, or if he’s deliberately deciding not to press. “You been awake the whole time?”

“Nah,” Faraday lies. “Woke up just now.”

The silence emanating from behind him is decidedly skeptical, and Faraday has a sneaking suspicion that the way Vasquez is wrapping himself around him is meant to be comforting. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.” Vasquez replies because he’s apparently a kinder man than Faraday, one willing not to call him out on his bullshit. “Just easier to sleep like this, no?”

“No,” Faraday says mulishly, and then promptly ruins everything by jumping when the cursed thunder rolls out yet again. “Motherfucker!”

“Está bien, amor,” Vasquez says softly, while Faraday manfully resists the urge to snap at him. So much for hiding his issues from everyone. “La tormenta pasará pronto. I promise.”

“I hate this,” Faraday grunts, speaking less about the storm and more about his own difficulties.

“I know,” Vasquez tells him. He rubs his face against Faraday’s shoulder, and there’s no pretending he’s not offering up comfort at this point.

“Thought you didn’t,” Faraday mumbles. He can feel his face heating, and is glad the darkness hides that much. “Thought I was hiding it better.”

“Maybe from the others,” Vasquez says, which is probably a lie, but it’s a lie Faraday will cling to. “Not from me though.”

“Right,” Faraday says faintly. Then he decides he may as well just give in and take what he wants. “Don’t let go?”

Vasquez’s hold tightens minutely. “Of course not, querido.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For bifca and queenislanzadi, who both requested Varaday and touch starved. Not really edited because I was rushing to get it out before work, but I’ll give it a polish later. Hope you enjoy!

The first time had almost driven him mad.

 

Trapped on the run for a deed that was seen as a crime, but was really more of a service, he’d done what was necessary to survive, scurrying from hiding spot to hiding spot like a frightened animal caught too far out from its burrow. No place had been safe, not for any significant length of time, and he’d hated every moment of it.

 

He hadn’t known, back when it had first started, just how difficult it would be, or the kind of toll it would take on him. His first instinct had always been to run when trouble arose, so he’d done as much without question. Then the reality of his situation had begun to sink in.

 

There was no hiding this time. Where before he’d had the ability to escape his troubles if he’d only flee far enough, now his fate followed wherever he went, often times before he even reached his next hideaway. It came in the form of papers, all bearing his name, his image, and a price that would make almost any man think a fight worth the risk. The only way to escape, to live, was to avoid people altogether. To be entirely alone. Friend or foe, no one could be trusted.

 

At first he hadn’t noticed how it was effecting him. Too caught up in staying alive, in keeping the hangman’s noose far from his neck, his attention had been focused on survival. It wasn’t until he’d been running for the better part of a year that it dawned on him just how badly off he was.

 

The cabin was the first sign, he supposes. Tucked away in the little copse of trees, he’d watched it for days before working up the nerve to move in close. Only when he’d been sure there was no movement inside, no smoke from the chimney, nothing, did he approach.

 

He’d been momentarily nonplussed to find the space wasn’t as empty as he’d come to believe. It turned out its former denizen was still there, but he’d had a very good reason for showing no signs of life, and as Vasquez had said later, it wasn’t like he snored or shared other traits with previous unpleasant roommates.

 

It probably should have clicked somewhere in the back of his mind that this wasn’t a normal reaction to stumbling upon a dead man. Most people would at least have had the common decency to give him a proper burial, whereas Vasquez ate at the same table while the deceased slowly withered away.

 

He wondered more than once during the few days they shared the space who the late occupant had been. There were no signs of anyone else having lived in the cabin, and the spot was so out of the way in the mountains that only someone looking for a place to hide would be likely to find it. It made him think that perhaps the man had chosen this solitude deliberately, a decision he could not for the life of him understand.

 

Then of course Sam Chisolm had arrived on the doorstep, bringing with him the prospect of a job and a reward in the form of at least one hunter off his trail. One could make the argument that it was a good deal in and of itself, and also that he’d have been unlikely to survive the encounter if he’d said no, but Vasquez knows the real reason he’d said yes, and money and freedom had nothing to do with it.

 

He’d fallen in with Chisolm, Cullen and the rest of their companions like a man trapped in the desert who’d been offered a cup of water. The food, the security, and above all else the human contact had been too much for him to pass up.

 

In the same vein, he hadn’t been able to give it up when the job was done and Rose Creek was well and truly saved. He’d been offered a far greater reward than the one initially contemplated, a chance not only to survive, but to live, and he’s held fast to that lifeline for months now.

 

Occasionally he’s caught the others giving him strange looks, usually during moments when he’s overstepped his bounds, gotten too clingy and pressed into someone’s personal space in a way that goes too far for propriety’s sake. No one ever says anything, in fact most them have a noted tendency to press back in exactly the way he needs, but he knows this isn’t normal, not even remotely.

 

Regardless, however, he takes what’s on offer. All of it. Be it a friendly nudge around the campfire, a pat on the back or a clap on the shoulder after a job well done, or something ... more. That last one he takes most of all, and luxuriates in every moment.

 

The first time he’d been trapped alone had almost driven him mad. He’d retained his sanity only because his companions had burst into his life at exactly the right instance, bringing with them safety and above all else comfort without even realizing it. The second time ... that’s even worse.

 

*****

 

He gets caught while most of the others are off on a job. The town they were working around contained an above average number of law enforcement, and the feeling was that he’d be better off keeping his head down. Not wanting to tempt fate any more than he already had, Vasquez agreed, and stayed behind at a campsite a few miles away.

 

Due to the unspoken rule among the crew, he likewise wasn’t left alone. Sam had made noise about not needing a full compliment for this job, while Goodnight had made noise about there only being so many accommodations where they would be staying, and suddenly Faraday was more interested in remaining where he was than getting caught up in some new mess. In the end only five of their usual seven had taken the job, and Vasquez had found himself still in possession of company when they’d ridden off.

 

They’d managed to find ways to amuse themselves with little difficulty in the ensuing days, and Vasquez is more relaxed than he has been in years by the time the third day has past.

 

He wakes first the next morning, dragging himself out of the tangle of limbs and blankets with only minimal difficulty, and then climbing out of the tent he and Faraday normally share. The thought of breakfast weighs heavy on his mind, not to mention his stomach, so he thinks little of heading for a nearby stream to fetch water for the morning cook pot. He doesn’t bother to wake Faraday before he goes, figuring the other man is bright enough to figure it out on his own if need be, and begins the trek with few concerns on his mind.

 

It’s likely because of his mood that he doesn’t keep his guard up the way he normally would. Holding fast to the apparently false belief that he and Faraday are the only people in the surrounding area, he crouches by the stream with all his attention focused on hauling as much water as possible.

 

He has his guns on him, of course, having grabbed the belt as he’d wriggled out of the tent, but it does him no good when four men jump him without warning. They pin him to the ground, one of them effectively gagging him with a hand over his mouth, while the others wrestle him down, take his weapons, and bind his hands.

 

After that he finds himself unceremoniously thrown over the back of a horse, while the men crow about their victory and also how much money he’s worth. He spares a fleeting thought for Faraday, too far away to have heard anything from the confines of their tent, and wonders what will happen next.

 

*****

 

They take him to a town. It’s probably the same one Sam and the rest of their crew are casing, although, due to his never having seen the place, he’s got no way of knowing that for sure. Still, he doesn’t travel alone these days, which means there’s cause for hope, especially when he overhears someone say they need to wait for the marshals to hang him, and who knows how long that could take.

 

His victory is short lived, however. Once he’s been processed at the jail, he’s unceremoniously dragged to the cells, which is where things start to go poorly.

 

Firstly, he’s hustled downstairs into a space that’s really more of a cellar than anything else. There’s a row of barred doors lining one wall, not a single one of them containing another prisoner. He’s shoved into the one furthest back, and the door slams shut behind him with a loud clang.

 

The cell is relatively cool and windowless. What illumination there is comes from a pair of lamps near the main entrance, and whatever light that comes through the same space. It contains an uncomfortable looking straw pallet and not much else, not even a bench to sit on.

 

They’ve taken everything from him but the clothes on his back, and even those are not much to write home about. Since he’d been grabbed while getting water for breakfast, he hadn’t been fully dressed, and is without both hat and vest. All told, he looks a sorry state to be sure.

 

Caught up in his predicament, he doesn’t initially realize his bigger, or at least more immediate, problem. It’s only when he’s already wiled away hours in the dimly lit cage that something else dawns on him.

 

He’s alone.

 

He is utterly, terribly, inescapably alone. There’s no one in the cells with him, and the set up of the place means that no guards are needed downstairs to watch him. He’d seen someone minding the door to come in, but whoever it was must not move deeper down unless there’s an emergency. He can’t even hear men talking in the main level above his head. It’s as if everything is muted, like he’s the only man left in the world.

 

That’s foolishness, of course, but he can’t escape the feeling that history is repeating himself. He’s told himself more than once since Rose Creek that he’d rather die than be alone again, and in this moment he’d prefer the noose straightaway to the prospect of however many days these people intend to keep him trapped down here.

 

He tries to tell himself not to think like that. Faraday will have noticed he’s missing by now, and he’ll find a way to contact the others. They won’t let him rot here if it’s at all possible, so he should try to keep his spirits up.

 

Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. Cut off from the companionship he craves, Vasquez takes to pacing the cell like a caged animal, muttering low under his breath in a mixture of Spanish and English that even he can’t understand.

 

He perks up briefly when the main door opens and a guard steps in carrying a tray of food, but it’s short lived. The man doesn’t say a word, merely slides the tray through a slot near the bottom of the cell before turning on his heel to leave again.

 

For the next several days, that’s the extent of Vasquez’s human interaction. No one talks to him, indeed, they barely even look at him, and he can feel himself slowly but surely fraying at the edges.

 

He eats because he knows he should, but it becomes harder and harder as the days pass. Feelings of helplessness are starting to set in, amplified by the loneliness that he just can’t shake. He’s pretty sure he’s going to go mad if something doesn’t change soon; provided he hasn’t already.

 

Understandably, he starts to lose track of time. He’s got no idea how long he’s been down here now, but given the way he’s beginning to think fondly of the hangman at times, he figures it’s safe to say it’s lasted too long.

 

Then one night the main door opens slowly, like the person behind it is trying to be quiet, and that’s unusual enough to see Vasquez sit up where he’s been curled over on his pallet. He still stays back, not wanting to risk something unexpected happening, but he watches curiously in the meagre light to see what will happen.

 

For once two people come down the stairs, and neither of them are carrying food. No, all these men come bearing are themselves, and in one case, a wild grin Vasquez was starting to believe he’d never see again.

 

“Evenin’, muchacho,” Faraday says, tipping a hat he’s not actually wearing towards Vasquez. “You fancy being rescued tonight?”

 

Vasquez doesn’t know what to say. Rising up onto unsteady legs, he lurches towards the cell door, curling his hands around the bars. He wants to reach out and touch, but there’s a terrified part of him that doesn’t think this is real, and he knows he won’t survive it if he grabs for Faraday and the mirage slips through his fingers.

 

Luckily, Faraday truly is more perceptive than people give him credit for. While Billy, moving as silently as ever, slinks forward to deal with the lock, Faraday comes to a stop directly in front of him, and rests his hands atop Vasquez’s own.

 

“S’okay, Vas,” he says, speaking the same way he does when he’s trying to calm Jack the horse at his most skittish. “We’re gonna get you out, and then we’ll take you back with us.”

 

Vasquez forces his hands away from the bars, latching in to Faraday instead. “How long?” He croaks, knowing he sounds desperate and not caring in the slightest. “Guero, how long?”

 

“Too long,” Faraday replies, his eyes narrowing, “but it’s over now. We’re here.”

 

Vasquez nods, but he doesn’t really believe it. It’s only when Billy makes a tiny noise of satisfaction, and the lock opens with a slight click that it begins to sink in.

 

“We need to go,” Billy says, speaking for the first time. “We can’t risk staying here, even with those two guards incapacitated.”

 

He says incapacitated with an amount of relish that makes Vasquez wonder just how worried his friends were. That’s not something he wants to dwell on, however, and against his better judgement, he stumbles out of the cage and right into Faraday’s waiting arms.

 

“Easy, easy,” Faraday hushes, enveloping him in an embrace that speaks to his own worry. “Vas, we’re all here, I promise, but we’ve got to go, alright?”

 

“Yes, okay.” Vasquez allows himself one last moment to leech every ounce of comfort he can out of Faraday’s touch, and then straightens. There will be more where that comes from, he knows, so now they need to move. “I’m ready.”

 

Faraday gives him a faint smile, and then leads him towards freedom.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the-woman-upstairs who requested memory loss with Vasquez being the one to forget Faraday.
> 
> WARNING: while I would largely classify this one as being bittersweet, it is definitely angstier than its previous counterparts.

> It’s going to be one of the bad days.

Gasping for breath thanks to the hit to the gut he’s just taken in the melee, Faraday scrambles to his feet, and darts around the bed to try and prevent Vasquez from yanking the bedroom door open.

“Ale, Ale it’s alright!” Holding out his hands in a placating gesture, Faraday does his best to appear non-threatening. Part of him thinks the fact that he’s clearly unarmed and wearing nothing but a pair of sleep pants should be enough to see him succeed in this endeavour, but the wild look on Vasquez’s face suggests otherwise.

“It’s alright,” Faraday says again. He’s had plenty of practice at this point, meaning that he’s able to stay calm now, unlike in the early days. “You’re safe,” he promises, trying not to feel hurt when Vasquez’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “You’re home.”

“Home?” Vasquez echoes. He makes a scoffing sound. “I don’t know who you are, cabron, but this certainly is not my home. I don’t even have one of those.”

Faraday’s stomach tightens, but he knows better than to let himself get caught up in his own hurt. He needs to concentrate on dragging Vasquez back from the brink instead.

“You do have a home,” he promises. “I know you don’t always remember, but it’s right here with me.”

“And you are?” Vasquez asks cagily. Thankfully, he makes no move to try and rush Faraday (he’s done that once or twice before, and it never ends well), but his gaze keeps darting around the room, likely in search of something he can use as a weapon.

He won’t find anything. They’ve had enough experience with the bad days by now to have taken precautions where their home is concerned. Faraday knows exactly where their guns are hidden, but Vasquez doesn’t have a clue. Not this version of him anyway.

“My name’s Josh, Josh Faraday.” It’s generally better to play along with Vasquez in moments like this. He’s much more likely to snap out of this latest daze if he can be kept calm. “I’m your ... partner.”

Vasquez snorts. “I’ve never seen you before in my life, and I haven’t travelled with anybody for months. Not since - not since -“

“Not since the ranger, I know,” Faraday says. “No, it’s okay,” he’s quick to add, once again holding out his arms in a calming manner. “I’m not after your bounty. I never was.”

“We met on a job a couple of years ago,” he explains. He takes a cautious step forward, letting out a sigh of relief when Vasquez doesn’t immediately try and back-peddle. “You, me, and five others were hired by some locals to help out a town called Rose Creek.”

“Never heard of it,” Vasquez replies. He snaps his teeth when Faraday gets closer, shifting from foot like he’s considering which way to bolt. “Never heard of you either.”

“Yes, you have,” Faraday contradicts. “We worked together in Rose Creek, and you dragged my fool ass in after I got shot to shit during the fight. You kept me company for months while I was healing up, and we never left. It’s been almost three years.”

“No,” Vasquez disagrees. “I’ve never done anything like that. What you’re describing, it must have been with somebody else.”

Faraday huffs our a tiny laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about the situation. “It definitely wasn’t somebody else,” he assures. “You’re one of a kind, muchacho.”

“Look out the window if you don’t believe me,” he suggests, nodding to the closed curtains on the opposite side of the room. “There’s a barn and stables out there. You built ‘em, and you manage the farm when you’re able. Me, I work with horses, got a real knack that I decided to put to use when you said you wanted to stay.”

Vasquez makes no move to follow Faraday’s command. Instead, he continues staring suspiciously. “I don’t stay anywhere. I can’t.”

“Couldn’t,” Faraday corrects. “The folks around here are damn grateful for the way we saved their asses when nobody else would. Now they keep us safe in return.”

“I don’t believe you,” Vasquez says flatly. “This is a lie, a trick of some sort. I have never seen this place before in my life, and I don’t know you, or any place called Rose Creek.”

Faraday’s absurdly grateful for the unexpected wealth of patience he’s developed in recent days. He’s still a disaster of a human being, of course, and hot tempered to a fault. He knows how to treat Vasquez in these moments, though, which is worth something.

“You had an accident a couple of months ago,” he explains, doing his best to prevent the old feelings of guilt from bubbling up and overwhelming him. “You hit your head, and now some days you don’t always remember the present. You think you’re back on the run.”

“But you’re not,” he promises. “And that’s not gonna change. This is home now. Let me show you.”

He slides forward until he’s within Vasquez’s personal space. Stretching out a hand carefully, he nudges the other man towards the window, slowly drawing the curtains back. “You see?” He tries as soft early morning light filters into the room. He nods towards the distant silhouette of the barn. “You weren’t here when you were running.”

“And you didn’t have these.” Hoping it’s safe now, he shifts until he’s behind Vasquez, resting a splayed palm over his hip, and stroking his thumb over a mark that sits just above his nightclothes.

“You got this one when you were cutting wood for the paddock,” he says softly, tracing the faint line with his fingertips. “Don’t ask me how. I heard you swearing fit to burst, and when I came running you told me the saw slipped.”

“This one came from the fight for Rose Creek.” Shifting his free hand upwards, he curves it around Vasquez’s bicep, effectively covering the faded bullet scar. “For the record, I’m not sure it’s fair that you walked away with only one mark from that fight. I personally took five bullets, and they were all in much worse places.”

“You’re lying,” Vasquez says, but his voice catches the way it always does when his mind is forced to acknowledge the presence of scars it can’t remember obtaining. The words are getting through to him.

“No,” Faraday says firmly. “Not to you. Not about this. That’s this son of a bitch right here talking.”

Gently, oh so gently, Faraday removes his hand from Vasquez’s hip and presses two fingers to the spot of gnarled skin at the base of his skull. “You fell,” he says softly. “You were up in the barn loft, and you tripped.”

A sudden vision flashes before his eyes, and Faraday shudders. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop himself from seeing it every time he thinks about the accident. “I found you out cold after it happened. You’ve bounced back awfully well all things considered, just some days your brain gets a little confused about where it is.”

“You’re safe though,” he vows. Dropping both his hands now, he curls

* * *

his arms around Vasquez’s waist, relieved when the other man is calm enough to allow this. “I promise.”

Vasquez is quiet for several long moments, and then, “...Joshua?”

Faraday breathes out a sigh of relief. He knows that voice as well as he knows his own. That’s Vasquez. That’s _his_  Vasquez. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

Vasquez turns so he can look at Faraday. “I went away again, didn’t I?” He asks, dark eyes troubled.

“Only for a few minutes,” Faraday assures him, pressing a kiss to his temple as he leans in. “It’s fine, you’re fine.”

“It is not fine,” Vasquez protests, but Faraday hushes him with a hand rubbed soothingly over his back.

“Yes, it is,” he promises. He’s relieved that this latest episode had been so short. Sometimes they can last the better part of the day. “Even if you never remembered, it’d still be fine.”

Vasquez makes a low sound of disagreement, but he doesn’t pull away. Neither of them do.

“It’s fine,” Faraday says again, and if he keeps repeating it, maybe it’ll turn out to be true.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The latest prompt for my @badthingshappenbingo card. This one for @thebaccararose who asked for truth serum.

Faraday hisses when the cloth is pressed to his split lip. Glaring at all and sundry, he shifts to try and pull away from the offending item, prevented from doing so only when Vasquez stretches out a hand and curls it around the back of his neck.

“Hold still,” Vasquez says firmly, refusing to release his grip when Faraday starts to squirm. “You are a mess, guero. Let me clean you up.”

Faraday opens his mouth, no doubt to throw out some lie about how he’s fine and his captors barely nicked him, but stops, unable to get the words out. His scowl deepening, he refuses to meet Vasquez’s eye. “I’ve had worse,” he mutters.

“Yes, you have,” Vasquez agrees because the mere fact that Faraday can mostly walk under his own power means this is true. However, that doesn’t mean he’s alright by any stretch of the imagination. “Despite this, you are still a mess.”

“So you keep telling me,” Faraday grunts. “It doesn’t matter. I did what I had to do.”

Now it’s Vasquez’s turn to hiss. Bringing the cloth back up, he swipes at Faraday’s lip, possibly with more force than necessary if the man’s resulting since is anything to go by. Still. “You antagonized them,” he growls. “Made them angry so they’d come at you with fists instead of questions. It was a stupid, reckless thing to do.”

“It was nothing of the sort,” Faraday declares, trying to twist away when Vasquez gives up on his lip and moves in on a cut up near his hairline. “If I’d let them keep talking at me, I’d have wound up telling them everything they wanted to know thanks to this damned whatever-it-is that they dosed me with. I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.”

“So you’d have told them where to find me and the others, so what?” Vasquez asks. “We can take care of ourselves, and we were already coming to find you anyway. It would not have mattered.”

“It mattered to me,” Faraday snaps, glaring when Vasquez gives him an inscrutable look. That had come out much more forcefully than either of them had expected.

“You wouldn’t have been weak if you’d talked,” Vasquez says, taking a wild stab in the dark as to what the root of the issue is. “And none of us would have held that against you.”

“I know that,” Faraday replies, clearly still feeling the effects of the truth serum his captors has given him. “I don’t give a fuck about how talking would have made me look. It was you I was worried about.”

“Me?” Vasquez asks, confused. He draws the cloth he’s been using to clean Faraday’s wounds back, hoping this might help him get some answers. “Why were you worried about me?”

Faraday glares at him, and Vasquez realizes too late that he’s inadvertently triggered the serum again; forcing the man to admit something he’d rather not. “They knew about your bounty,” he says through gritted teeth, “and they wanted it for themselves. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Vasquez scoffs, trying to play this off as nothing. “Plenty of people have wanted my bounty since it’s been on my head. I can take care of myself where it is concerned.”

“I don’t want you to have to take care of yourself.” Faraday’s expression is pinched, but his words are firm as he speaks. “I want to have your back.”

“That’s very kind of you, I’m sure,” Vasquez replies, “but it isn’t necessary. Certainly not at your own expense.”

He’s not expecting for Faraday to reach out and grab his wrist at this, but he’s even less expecting the words that come next.

“It is so necessary,” Faraday says firmly. His throat works for a few moments, like he’s trying to hold something back, and eventually he sags in obvious defeat. “Fuck it, it’s coming out whether you want to hear it or not. I love you, you idiot, meaning I’m not about to put you at risk if I can make them take me instead.”

Declaration made, he stands, and behins doing his best to hobble away on a wrenched knee. He gets father than he might have thanks to the way Vasquez is temporarily struck dumb at his words, but not far enough.

“Faraday, wait. Get back here!” Shaking himself out of his stupor, Vasquez scrambles after the other man, dropping the cloth back in the bowl of water in his haste to prevent his escape. “We are not finished yet.”

“Oh yes we are,” Faraday says, his face red. “I’ve had quite enough grand revelations for one night, so I’m gonna go hide away until this passes. Otherwise, Christ knows what else I might let slip.”

“You mean besides things I am already aware of?” Vasquez asks. He lets his mouth quirk into a grin when Faraday turns to look at him in obvious surprise. “Querido, you are not a subtle man,” he says gently, “and I am very good at reading you by now.”

“Are not,” Faraday says mulishly. “Nobody knows what I’m thinking unless I want ‘em to.”

“If you say so,” Vasquez replies, mildly surprised the truth serum hadn’t stopped that sentence from coming out. Maybe it’s starting to wear off. “Regardless, I knew. I was only surprised because I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say it out loud.”

Faraday eyes him suspiciously. “You seem remarkably calm about that. Most folks prefer to actually hear the words, or so I gather.”

Vasquez shrugs easily, and reaches out to try and coax Faraday back into his previously vacated chair. “Most folks are not me,” he declares. “Nor are they you. I understand the things you mean behind the words you actually say. I have no need of some truth potion to tell me that.”

“Now, sit,” he adds pointedly. “Love confessions are not going to be enough to save you from a full check up. In fact, they might just make me more determined. Get over here so I can convince myself you’re not going to die from what those men did to you.”

“Please, I know what life threatening injuries feel like,” Faraday says. “These aren’t even close.”

“Still,” Vasquez says, getting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him into his seat. “Let me appease both my worries and my conscience by taking care of you. Or would you rather cause the love of your life further stress?”

Faraday glares at him. “You keep talking like that, and I’m going to cause the love of my life a bloody nose.”

“Oh no, I am so frightened,” Vasquez says dryly. Snickering, he leans forward to brush a kiss over the top of Faraday’s head when his scowl deepens. “I am only teasing, guerito. You know this.”

Faraday grumbles some more, but eventually he settles. Pleased, Vasquez retrieves his discarded cloth, and gets back to work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latest prompt fill. This one for bifca who wanted Varaday and shaking and shivering.

 

“It’s coming, I swear it’s coming.” Muttering low under his breath, Faraday shoves more wood into the stove that dominates one corner of the tiny cabin. Glancing furtively over his shoulder at the figure curled up in the centre of the bed, he winces guiltily and returns to his allotted task.

“I know I like to make fun of you for being ridiculous about the cold, but don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far?” He asks, trying and failing to maintain a humorous facade. Up until a couple minutes ago, he would at least have heard teeth chattering in response. Now he’s not even getting that much. “All that complaining you were doing; I never figured it’d be preferable to the quiet.”

That does get him a weak laugh, but when he looks over again, he finds that Vasquez has his head down like he’s thinking of going to sleep. “None of that!” Faraday barks. He’s not sure where he’d heard it, but he’s positive you’re supposed to keep cold victims awake. “Snap out of it, Vas. You ain’t taking a nap now.”

Vasquez raises his head a fraction, peering at Faraday from beneath the wool cap he’s wearing. He’s still got all of his winter gear on, which Faraday thinks they should probably rectify as soon as the fire’s going. It’s all damp and chilled, and can’t be helping the situation.

“Just stay awake,” he says, or rather pleads when Vasquez continues to watch him blearily. “I’ll help you when I’m done here.”

Judging by Vasquez’s expression, all this offer does is confuse him. Seeing no point in making that worse, Faraday returns to the stove and the life sustaining heat he’s attempting to coax out of it.

“S’not going to be much longer,” he says as he stacks logs on top of each other. He’s speaking as much for his own benefit as he is for Vasquez now. The silence is getting to him. “We’ll get this place all nice and cozy, and then you’ll feel better.”

There’s still no answer from his companion, so Faraday continues to chatter aimlessly as he gets the stove going. Only when some heat finally starts emanating from the thing does he turn back to Vasquez.

“I said no sleeping!” Quickly crossing the room to where Vasquez is now reclined in an exhausted slump, Faraday shakes the man roughly. “Jesus wept,” he breathes, relieved beyond measure when his partner groans weakly. “Oh quit your complaining. That’s what you get for nearly giving me a heart attack.”

“Come on now,” he adds when Vasquez barely responds. “Let’s get you out of these freezing clothes, and into something a little better.”

Vasquez is less than helpful as Faraday maneuvers him out of his frozen clothing. His movements are sluggish and uncoordinated, leaving him almost totally reliant on Faraday to help him.

“God as my witness,” Faraday mutters, tugging this way and that to divest Vasquez of his frigid layers. “I know you don’t like the cold, but why didn’t you say you were having this much trouble?”

Because he’s a stubborn bastard, of course. Faraday has begun to suspect something was wrong when Vasquez had gotten quieter and quieter during the trek back to the cabin. However, he hadn’t realized how bad things were until they got inside, and the other man had all but collapsed upon crossing the threshold.

“Stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid,” he continues on. “Most days I can’t get you to shut your goddamned trap, but give me an instance when speaking up would be useful, and you clam right up. Asshole.”

Vasquez makes a noise that might be meant to register his offence. Unfortunately, it’s too quiet and mumbled for Faraday to tell. As such he stays on course where his plans are concerned.

“Brought you some nice, dry stuff from your pack,” he says once he’s got Vasquez stripped down. “It’s not exactly toasty warm, but much better than what you’ve been wearing.”

Vasquez remains less than helpful during this next stage, but at least he doesn’t protest what Faraday’s doing. The same again goes for once he’s clothed. He doesn’t kick up the slightest fuss as Faraday rolls him under the blankets; piling every one in the room on top of the bed.

“Easy does it,” Faraday says, drawing the covers up high. “Let’s get you all nice and bundled up, yeah? That’s sure to make you feel better.”

He steps back for a moment to critically examine his work. The cabin’s small enough that the heat from the stove is already starting to raise the temperature a few degrees, and Vasquez is as insulated as it’ll be possible to make him. Still, there is one other source of heat in the room.

“Heaven help you if you give me grief about this,” Faraday declares. Beginning to strip off his own winter wear, he casts about for his pack and a change of clothes for himself. “If it’s warmth you need, then its warmth you’re going to fucking get.”

Vasquez stirs slightly as Faraday slips beneath the covers next him, his face scrunching up in confusion. “Que?” He murmurs faintly, the first word he’s uttered since they’d stumbled inside and slammed the door shut behind them.

“You’re half frozen,” Faraday informs him, just in case he might not have noticed. “Shut up and let me try to make it better.”

Vasquez twitches minutely when Faraday worms his hands under his shirt; initially trying to squirm away. “No,” he says weakly. “You’re cold.”

“No, you’re cold,” Faraday shoots back. Now that they’re touching, he can feel how much Vasquez is shaking. Fighting to keep his worry from showing, he presses in closer, not stopping until they’re resting flush together. “Let me help.”

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs. Tucking Vasquez’s face into the crook of his neck, he begins rubbing what flesh he can reach with his hands, intending to transfer over whatever body heat he can. “Fuck, Vas.”

“Cold,” Vasquez says helpfully, and Faraday can’t quite contain a tiny laugh.

“Cold is right,” he agrees, though he thinks he can feel Vasquez’s skin beginning to warm beneath his palms. He breathes out a sigh of relief as the other man’s shaking starts to ebb just a fraction. “Next time you can do me a favour and tell me if it’s getting bad.”

“That wasn’t a request,” he adds on the off chance Vasquez decides to take this as a suggestion instead of the command it’s meant to be. “You do this to me again, and I’m going to make you regret it.”

“So scared, guero.” Vasquez’s reply might have more weight if his teeth weren’t starting to chatter, and Faraday says as much. “Shut up.”

“Mhm,” Faraday replies. “Nice to hear you sounding a little bit more alive. Now, hold still. I reckon you need all the help you can get, and I’m not gonna keep lying here if you start kicking me.”

“Liar,” Vasquez mutters, and Faraday doesn’t miss the way he burrows more tightly into his chest.

“Yeah,” he admits quietly. “You’re probably right.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For purplenerd777 and geekyelvenchick, who both asked for the prompt of don’t let them see you cry.

The last thing Faraday expects are the nightmares. Maybe that’s naive of him, but he’s never had them before, so as far as he’s concerned it stands to reason that he shouldn’t have them now. Unfortunately, his subconscious brain doesn’t share this belief.

At first he manages to keep them a secret. When they initially begin happening he’s still sleeping in a sickroom all by himself, and miraculously doesn’t make someone come running with all his thrashing. He gets a few questions the mornings after as to how he’s doing, but no one comes close to what the issue is.

He’s nervous about what will happen when he’s no longer bedridden, but maintains his calm as best he can. Once he’s allowed up on his feet, he’s transferred to a room in the boarding house, which he also maintains by his lonesome. 

The walls in the boarding house are paper thin, so the people holding down the rooms on either side of him must sleep like the dead. The dreams don’t plague him every night, but they do it often enough to be considered a regular thing; horrible, gut-wrenching nightmares that see him coming awake gasping for breath and begging the almighty to make the pain stop.

He thinks they’re starting to taper off by the time Sam comes to him with the suggestion of joining up as a member of his crew, which is part of the reason he agrees. He likes the idea of travelling with these men, and so long as his own damn head doesn’t betray him by revealing his shame during the night, then he wants to be part of this.

Nothing happens in the first few days they’re out on the trail, but then one night he shoots upright near the fading embers of the campfire, his heart pounding in his chest and his skin slick with sweat. 

Much to his surprise, a furtive glance around tells him that he hasn’t woken any of his fellows. Even the lightest sleepers among them are still wrapped up in their own blankets, six silent bodies passed out effortlessly beneath the stars. Part of Faraday is jealous, but mostly he’s just relieved.

He lays back down again, burrowing into his own blanket for whatever meagre protection it can provide. His heart rate is almost back to normal now, but visions of exploding debris continue to dance in front of his eyes. Telling himself he’s being ridiculous, he rolls over and counts cards until he falls back to sleep.

His luck continues to hold out. The dreams keep coming, but he gets good at hiding his midnight wakings. Taking precautions, he sleeps further away from the main camp than he had the first night, citing a lack of privacy as his reasoning. The others admittedly look at him somewhat suspiciously, but no one presses the issue.

Nor do they do so during the times when they’re renting rooms in towns. Most of them prefer to have their own space when real beds are available, with Goodnight and Billy being the notable exception, and he’s left to his own devices on such occasions.

It’s not a perfect solution by any means, and he’d probably be fine to simply tell the others about his problem. He still has his pride, however, and someone seeing him in the state that comes about as a result of one of his nightmares isn’t something it can handle. No, he keeps right on hiding, and that’s all there is to it.

Then, of course, he makes a critical error.

He and Vasquez fall together in a way that should be surprising, but in the end really isn’t. The outlaw is the first of his companions he comes to think of as a friend, and keeps him company during his long journey towards recovery after the battle. Their eventual sliding into something more than bickering comrades is in a way seemingly inevitable.

Despite this, Faraday makes a point to keep his distance where sleeping arrangements are involved. Just because he and Vasquez are fucking doesn’t mean they have to become attached at the hip. After all, they’re not Goodnight and Billy.

Vasquez seems to take this peculiarity in stride; climbing out of Faraday’s bed when told, and not protesting on the nights when the reverse takes place. He offers once or twice to let Faraday stay, but never pushes the matter.

This goes on for months, until finally, after a particularly draining job, Faraday finds himself drifting off before he can work up the energy to leave Vasquez’s room. It happens between one blink and the next. One moment he’s lying in bed with Vasquez next to him, idly thinking about how he really needs to get up, the next he’s out cold.

It’d be fine if that was all that happened, possibly even nice. Vasquez is a comfortable weight behind him, warm and solid in a way a blanket just isn’t. There’s still his little nighttime problem to contend with, though, and naturally it chooses now to rear its ugly head again.

It’s always the same dream, one Faraday can play out by heart at this point. He’s back in that field on the outskirts of Rose Creek, alone except for the Gatling gun, which is smoking ominously. The machine is searching for him, he knows it is, but whenever he tries to run it’s always right in front of him, waiting. Then the explosions start.

Like always, Faraday jerks awake with those same explosions ringing in his ears. Only this time there’s something different. Accompanying the thunderous cacophony is a familiar voice insistently repeating his name. 

Faraday’s eyes snap open, and he comes face to face with Vasquez, who’s hunched over him, urgently telling him to wake up, that it’s not real, that it’s just a dream. Slowly he starts to come back to himself, and that’s when the embarrassment settles in.

Shifting awkwardly, he tries to sit up, but is prevented from doing so by the hand Vasquez places on his chest. He makes a noise of denial, wanting to escape, but the other man’s hold is firm, and he pins Faraday to the bed with his own body weight.

“It’s okay, querido,” he says gently. “It’s only me. You’re safe.”

“Fuck you,” Faraday growls, his mortification at being caught out making him speak before he thinks. 

“Maybe later,” Vasquez replies, not even remotely offended. “Before then, do you want to tell me what just happened?”

“No,” Faraday replies, never having meant something more in his life. “It’s alright. I can handle it.”

Vasquez’s brow furrows, and Faraday instantly knows that was a poor choice of wording. “You can handle it,” he repeats. Even in the poor light of the room, Faraday can see his eyes narrow in understanding. “This has happened before.”

“So what?” Faraday demands, not bothering to deny it. “I told you, I can handle it. I’ve been handling it for months now, ever since Rose Creek, so I know what I’m about.”

“Since Rose Creek?” Apparently Vasquez feels like impersonating a parrot tonight, or he just really enjoys repeating everything Faraday says. “How often? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not exactly something I’m proud of,” Faraday snaps. He again tries to squirm away, but Vasquez’s grip is akin to that of a vice. He’s not going anywhere.

“You honestly think I wanted anyone else to know?” He demands instead. “You think I like that I dream about that goddamned gun more nights than not? That I see it coming for me in my sleep? Ready to shred me to pieces and blow me to bits and - and!”

He trails off with a harsh sob, an irrepressible feeling welling up from deep in his chest, crawling up his throat and threatening to choke him as it overwhelms his body. Desperately, he scrunches his eyes shut, but all that does is make him see the explosions again, which draws a second, even more ragged cry from his lips.

Distantly, he registers the fact that he’s moving, albeit not under his own power. Strong arms wrap around him, and one hand comes up to stroke his hair, while another runs in broad sweeps along his back. “Just breathe, Joshua,” Vasquez says. His lips are close enough to brush the shell of Faraday’s ear, and he kisses his temple as he speaks. “It’s alright, you’re alright. I’ve got you.”

Faraday chokes out a ragged laugh because in one way that’s the last thing he wants, but in another it’s exactly what he craves. Finally giving in to the urge, he buries his face in the crook of Vasquez’s neck, taking the comfort that’s clearly on offer.

“Good, that’s good,” Vasquez tells him, not once pausing in what he’s doing. “This will pass, I promise, and I’m going to stay with you until it does.”

“You ain’t gotta do that,” Faraday mumbles, embarrassed. “I don’t need a keeper.”

“Nobody needs a keeper, guero,” Vasquez chides. “That doesn’t mean people don’t deserve them. Let me help.”

Faraday blinks rapidly, wanting to make sure the few tears he can feel prickling in the corners of his eyes aren’t shed. He makes sure to keep his head down just in case, lest Vasquez see something he shouldn’t.

“Thanks,” he says gruffly, once he figures it’s safe to speak again.

If his voice is still tougher than normal, Vasquez is at least kind enough not to call him out on it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @roll-the-maps who suggested Varaday and muzzled. This could probably be read as gen, but I say interpret it as you see fit.

Faraday slinks quietly down the hallway, hoping against hope that he’s not too late. It had taken him longer than anticipated to convince one of Vasquez’s attackers to reveal where they were holding the man, and for all he knows the time spent on the task might have been more than his partner could hold out for.

Telling himself not to think that way, Faraday does his best to channel his fear into anger, wanting to use the latter to fuel this rescue mission, as opposed to the former, which would likely only distract him. He can get Vasquez out, he’s certain of it, so it’s better to go in expecting to find a breathing if battered body rather than anything else.

The man who’d helpfully provided information on the status of his crew’s hideout had been very thorough once Faraday had convinced him to talk. He’d known exactly where Vasquez would be held, as well as the best path to reach him. More importantly, he’d been all too willing to hand said information over if it meant Faraday would go focus his attention on somebody else.

Muffled explosions suddenly sound out in the distance, signalling the arrival of the calvary Faraday’s brought with him. Having been all too willing to go in for overkill given the nature of the rescue operation, he’d told the others to rain down as much destruction as possible, and it sounds like they’ve taken to the job with gusto.

Figuring shit blowing up is bound to draw most of Vasquez’s captors away from where they’re holding him, Faraday hustles down the corridor at greater speed, intent on finding his prize without delay.

Luck turns out to be with him. As he rounds the last bend before the spot Vasquez is located, he finds that instead of just some of his guards leaving to deal with the outside attack, they all have. The hall ends at a heavy, unwatched door that Faraday knows he can get through.

Breaking into the room on the other side isn’t an instantaneous process sadly, but Faraday’s still quicker at it than most. His skills as a lock-pick are second to none - it’s one of the reasons Chisolm chose him for this team - and he’s yet to come up against a code he can’t crack.

He pauses for a moment, just after he hears the bolt slide back, wanting to make sure no one’s coming. When all he hears is the continued rumbling from far away, he grins and throws open the door.

The room, or cell rather, is bare but for a chair placed directly at its centre. In it Vasquez sits slumped with his arms tied painfully behind him. There’s blood on the floor by his feet; not enough to worry the loss will kill him, but enough to still be a cause for concern, and his breathing is laboured in a way that suggests he might have a busted rib or two.

“Aw, Vas,” Faraday says, wincing in sympathy. “The fuck did they do to you, big guy?”

Vasquez lifts his head up a fraction, at which point Faraday realizes two things. The first is that he’s definitely been drugged because no one with that kind of glazed expression is firing on all cylinders. The second is that the bastards upstairs have fucking gagged him.

Or at least Faraday supposes it’s a gag. Having forgone the usual track of a piece of cloth stuffed in a captive’s mouth, this thing is seriously heavy duty and employing more metal than one might expect. Wanting it off Vasquez immediately, Faraday strides forward to do just that.

“What the actual fuck?” He asks as he examines it. “What, they thought you needed a muzzle? Guess you must’ve been mouthing off something awful.”

Vasquez’s only response is the world’s slowest blink, which Faraday deems a cause for concern. Spotting what he figures is the weakest point, he pulls out his favourite knife to begin carefully sawing through the strap.

“Don’t you worry, Vas,” he says, murmuring low as he works. “I’m gonna have you out of here in no time. We’ll get this contraption off of you, cut you the rest of the way loose, and then we’re home free.”

Vasquez makes what might be a noise of agreement, and Faraday chooses to take it as one. Finally getting through the strap he’s working on, he peels it open, tugging the whole mess away from Vasquez’s face.

“There we go,” he crows. Holding the gag up so he can see it better, he sniffs disdainfully before tossing it aside. It hits the floor with a muffled clank, and Faraday figures it can just stay there indefinitely. “How’s that feel? Better?”

Vasquez’s mouth works like he’s trying to respond, but all he manages is a soft grunt. He does nod his head a few times, however, so that’s a good thing.

“Alright,” Faraday declares. “Let’s get you the rest of the way out of here.”

The ropes lashing Vasquez to the chair are your typical garden variety, meaning it doesn’t take much to cut him free. Catching him before he falls becomes necessary when he no longer has them propping him up, but Faraday is expecting this and does so without issue.

“Easy there, muchacho,” he chides, guiding Vasquez’s arm around his shoulders to help him stand. “You’re enough of a mess right now that the last thing you want to do is wind up falling flat on your face.”

Nodding as if this makes sense, Vasquez lets Faraday haul him to his feet, and begins shuffling forward with his help. He’s not moving all that fast, but at least he’s moving period.

“That’s right, Vas. Just put one foot in front of the other. Here we go.” Chattering quietly, Faraday keeps up a steady stream of words to encourage Vasquez onwards. “Not bad as far as rescue ops go, huh?”

Vasquez casts his eyes sideways to give Faraday a tired look. There’s blood on his face, most of it probably his own, making him appear particularly disreputable. On the other hand, his eyes seem to be focusing a little better.

“You know,” he rasps, “they gagged me for being mouthy. I wonder if that would work on you?”

Faraday grins at him, unfazed. “Not a fucking chance, my friend. Not a fucking chance.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For dixiethumbelina, who asked for Vasquez and starving.

Vasquez eats like he expects his food to vanish at any moment.

Or, no, not vanish. Vanish implies that the disappearance might be accidental; a freak accident that no one could account for. That doesn’t fit with the way Vasquez curls protectively over every meal, shovelling bites into his mouth while his gaze darts about the room like he’s waiting for an attack. No, Vasquez eats like he’s expecting someone to take it from him.

Faraday notices it the very first night they meet, back before Red and Horne have joined them. Hunkered down in the rocky ravine where they’d made camp for the night, he catches sight of Vasquez near the fire, tearing into his share of the meal Sam’s dolled out among the lot of them.

He puts Faraday in mind of a wild animal. His body tense and coiled, while he hunches down as close to the flames as he can get, keeping several feet of distance between himself and the rest of his companions while he eats. Only once he’s done does he shuffle over to the spot where he’s left his gear and start to settle in for the night.

Faraday watches him from his perch up on one of the higher crags, idly wondering at the reason for such strange behaviour. He waits until Vasquez is sprawled out on his travel blanket, clearly intending to sleep now that he’s got a full belly, at which point he decides to find something else to spark his interest, and sets his sights on the fresh-faced Teddy Q.

The following morning, Faraday barely notes Vasquez’s strange eating habits, but they once again catch his eye in the evening. Having safely arrived in Rose Creek and cleared it of its current Blackstone inhabitants, they’ve been ushered over to the saloon for a meal; something they could all use, no matter what’s on offer.

Home cooked food is a luxury one can’t afford out on the trail, so the spread laid out in front of them is definitely more than most of them have seen in a while. They all dig in readily enough, it’s true, but again Faraday notices that Vasquez takes it to another level.

He doesn’t stop, is the thing. There’s no pause between one breath and the next, just repetitive bites as the man devours everything that’s put in front of him. The rest of them talk and joke as the locals look at them with something like awe (or terror) on their faces, but Vasquez, while occasionally nodding or laughing at something that’s said, keeps his attention zeroed in on his food.

Nor does his behaviour stop after the first night in town. Faraday notes the same style of eating during every meal they share together over the course of preparing Rose Creek for battle. No matter where they are or who’s around, Vasquez guards his meal like everyone within striking distance is a potential threat.

Even the night where it’s just the five of them clustered around a table in the saloon, telling tall tales and ribald jokes that scandalize most other listeners, is more of the same. Hell, Vasquez is so bad that night he doesn’t bother with utensils half the time, choosing instead to lick the mess right off his fingers.

There’s a small part of Faraday - one he largely ignores out of fear of being shot - that’s tempted to ease Vasquez’s plate away just to see what will happen. Sanity prevails in the end, but it’s a close thing. Faraday has always liked to push his luck when intrigued, poking and prodding until whatever it is occasionally lashes back, and the knowledge of his imminent death does nothing to do away with this habit.

Then, of course, the actual battle is upon them, and that effectively pushes all thoughts of Vasquez and his strange eating ways out of Faraday’s mind. He suddenly has much more prevalent thoughts, most of them focused on Bart Bogue’s army and the never to be sufficiently damned Gatling gun that they’ve brought along for the ride.

Figuring he’s as good as dead anyway thanks to the slug McCann sinks into his side, he sees no reason not to be the one to volunteer to charge the gun. It’s therefore a surprise to him on all counts when he wakes up however many days later in a sickroom he can’t recall ever seeing before.

The only thing that stops him from panicking upon waking is Vasquez’s familiar form. Seated in a chair next to the bed with his feet kicked up on the mattress, the outlaw appears to be keeping vigil over Faraday’s progress, although he’s fallen into a light doze in the process.

Clearing his throat to get the other man’s attention, Faraday waves a wand weakly when Vasquez’s eyes snap open in surprise. “Hola, muchacho,” he says faintly, grinning when those same eyes narrow in irritation almost instantly. “Any chance of a man getting a drink in these parts?”

“Sure,” Vasquez agrees, only to dash Faraday’s hopes straight away when he follows this with, “if you don’t mind water.”

Faraday scowls, but his throat feels dessert dry, so he supposes he’d better take what he can get. Nodding to show his agreement, he tries not to flush when Vasquez has to help him into an upright position, as well as to hold the cup.

“Did we win?” He asks once he’s drunk his fill. He still feels weak as a newborn kitten, and he aches something fierce in basically every part of his body, but he’s alive, and Vasquez is alive, which is honestly more than he would have expected.

“We did,” Vasquez says simply, only elaborating when Faraday makes an irritated gesture. “Bogue and his men are dead. Those of us who could burned the bodies after burying the locals. Many did not make it, but our seven survived, so did Miss Emma and her young friend.”

“Any of them get hurt?” Faraday asks. He notes a bandage encircling Vasquez’s left arm, and vaguely remembers the man taking a hit in the church. “Pretty sure Bogue had that gun turned on the steeple.”

“He did,” Vasquez agrees. “Billy and Goodnight were both badly injured. They’re in another room. Horne was also hit repeatedly, and even Teddy took more than his share. They’re all doubled up elsewhere.”

“And me in here all by my lonesome,” Faraday quips. “I’m not sure if I should be offended or not.”

“Not,” Vasquez replies. “You are the worst off, so you get your own space to heal.”

“I don’t really feel like that’s a fair trade, but I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it.” Shifting slightly in place, Faraday winces when he inevitably tugs on a few of his stitches, and resolves to stay as still as possible for the time being. “How come you’re in here?”

Vasquez shrugs. “We’ve been taking turns sitting with you. It didn’t seem right, leaving you all by yourself when you did so much for the rest of us.”

Touched, but not wanting to show it, Faraday brushes off this comment. “There any chance of a body getting anything to eat around here? My stomach feels damn near empty.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Vasquez replies. Standing, he gives Faraday a lopsided grin. “I’ll go find the doctor, and tell him you’re both awake and hungry. Try not to hurt yourself further while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” Faraday calls after him, but he’s talking to empty air.

*****

True to his word, Vasquez returns with both food and doctor in tow, but what surprises Faraday is that he keeps coming back. He’s got no shortage of visitors now that he’s awake, but Vasquez is by far his most regular companion, popping in even more often than the woman who changes his bandages.

Faraday supposes they’re friends at this point, which is why he finds himself finally putting voice to musings long since past one night when they’re holed up in his room eating supper. His own meal is spread out on a tray resting on the side of the bed, laid open for anyone to reach for, but Vasquez has his balanced on his lap, and is hunched over it as protectively as ever.

“Why do you do that?” Faraday asks, compelled by some strange need to know.

Vasquez frowns at him in confusion, before twisting his head to and fro, as if he’s trying to find the cause of the question. “Do what?” He asks finally.

“That,” Faraday says, pointing at the plate he has one hand curled around while he eats off of it, the dish pressed as closely against his body as he can make it. “How come you eat like you half expect someone to take it from you?”

“...oh.” Vasquez looks down at his food, eying it for a long moment before returning his gaze to Faraday. “Habit, I suppose,” he says with a shrug. “Before this place I never knew where my next meal was coming from, or how far away that would be. I had to eat when the opportunity presented itself.”

Faraday feels his mouth twist down, not comfortable with the thought of Vasquez having to cling to whatever scraps he could come across. It occurs to him suddenly that the outlaw has gained weight since they’ve been in Rose Creek; whereas before he was thinner than he should be.

“You were starving,” he concludes, disliking the very idea. “While you were on the run, I mean.”

Vasquez merely shrugs. “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. My luck varied.”

Faraday knows all about luck and the numerous ways it can turn on a man. He fights down an abrupt urge to offer Vasquez some of his own meal. “It ain’t going to happen to you again,” he says instead. “You know that, right?”

He’s talking about more than just food when he says it, a fact that he hopes Vasquez picks up on. Judging by the faint smile the other man gives him, he thinks he does.

“I do,” he concedes, “but old habits die hard, you know?”

Faraday does indeed know this, but it doesn’t stop him from reaching out and poking Vasquez in the knee. “Might be time to make some new ones, don’t you think?”

Vasquez watches him shrewdly for a few moments, and then slowly unfolds into a more relaxed posture, quirking an eyebrow as if to ask if this is sufficient for now.

Grinning, Faraday pats him carefully. “Exactly.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second fill of the day! This one for @thebaccararose who asked for Varaday and tied to a pole. This one is very silly, which I hope is okay :)

Twisting in his bonds to see if there’s any give to them, Faraday lets out a frustrated groan when he finds nothing of the sort. Letting his head fall back against the sturdy wood with a soft thump, he sighs. “This is all your fault.”

“I fail to see how.” Tied to the opposite side of the pole that Faraday’s been lashed to, Vasquez sounds equally annoyed with their predicament. “I distinctly remember saying I would take care of this myself.”

“Please,” Faraday snorts. “Half a dozen bounty hunters come a-calling and you figure you can deal with them on your own? I think not.”

“I think yes,” Vasquez shoots back, as if that makes any sense whatsoever. “I was perfectly capable of taking care of such problems before you and the others came into my life, and you know it.”

“First of all, no I don’t, and second of all,” Faraday says, pausing a moment for effect, “that is an utter load of shit. Six to one are terrible odds.”

“Says you,” Vasquez spits.

“Yeah, says me, and I’m the professional gambler, so I should know.” Faraday groans again, wanting to make sure his exasperation is absolutely clear for all to see. “I can’t believe you tried to do this alone.”

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t notice you following me,” Vasquez replies. “I also can’t believe you wouldn’t keep your voice down after catching up, which, by the way, lead to us getting caught.”

“Excuse me?” Faraday demands. “You were the one getting all shrieky about the whole thing. I was being perfectly calm.”

“You have never been calm a day in your life, which is proven right now with the way you are being unnecessarily dramatic,” Vasquez tells him.

“I most certainly am not!” Faraday snaps, both unnecessarily and dramatically. “What I am doing, is pointing out the all too honest fact that you’re the reason we’re in this mess.”

“Oh no no no,” Vasquez growls in return. “I  am the reason I am in this mess. You got yourself into it all on your own. I told you not to follow me!”

“Since when do I ever do what I’m told?” Faraday demands. “There’s a reason Sam says I have a problem with authority, you know.”

“Oh, yes, of course. How silly of me,” Vasquez scoffs. “In order to get you not to follow me, I should have told you to do just the opposite. What a perfectly logical thing that would have been to do. Idiot.”

“Hey,” Faraday snaps, wishing they weren’t tied with their backs to each other, so he could give Vasquez the full force of his glare. Awkwardly, he tries to get a leg up to kick the other man. Sadly, he’s less than successful. “Jackass.”

Vasquez mutters something low under his breath in Spanish, and based on his tone Faraday’s going to guess that it’s less than complimentary. “Of all the people I could be stuck waiting to die with, it had to be you, guero. At least the others would have been quiet.”

“Goody wouldn’t’ve been,” Faraday disagrees, “and Jack’d be praying by now. Would you rather I did that?”

“I would rather you did nothing other than sit there quietly.”

“Is that so?” Faraday starts, gearing himself up for a serious argument. “Well, in keeping with my earlier point of not doing what I’m told, I think -“

“Exactly how long have you two been going on like this? We could hear you all the way up the ridge.”

Blinking, Faraday cranes his neck as far to the side as he’s able, his eyes narrowing when he spots Sam and Billy watching them with matching looks of exasperation. “How long have you two been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Billy says. He pulls one of his sturdier knives out of his belt and glances at Sam. “I assume you want me to cut them free?”

Sam makes a face. “Want may be too strong a word, but we should probably be getting out of here. Set ‘em loose.”

As Billy steps forward to start sawing through the ropes wrapped around Vasquez and Faraday’s arms and midsections, Sam begins circling the pole they’re bound to. “I have to admit,” he says thoughtfully, “this is unexpected. Why didn’t they just shoot you?”

“Because they’re sick sons of bitches,” Faraday grumbles as the ropes begin to snap open. He nods at a distant pile of logs stacked several feet away. “Pretty sure they were gonna use us as a bonfire.”

“...lovely,” Sam says. “In that case I expect you’ll be happy to hear that we took care of your charming captors already. Horne, Red, and Goody are off double checking to make sure we didn’t miss anybody, while Billy and I came to grab you.”

“And thank Christ for that,” Faraday declares. “I don’t know how much more of Vasquez’s yammering I can take.”

“Yammering?” Vasquez echoes. Now he tries to kick out at Faraday, and thanks to his freakishly long legs he manages it, catching him right in the calf. “You’re the one who was yammering, cabron. Not me.”

About to snarl back at him, Faraday pauses when he catches sight of Sam’s expression. Sagging back against the pole, he kicks mulishly at the ground. “He started it,” he mumbles, avoiding their leaders gaze.

“Try and remember we can leave you here,” Sam replies. He shakes his head like he can’t believe their antics. “Honestly, you two. I’m going to say this once and only once, after which we’re going to put this mess behind us and never speak of it again. Vasquez, you shouldn’t have tried to handle this on your own. Faraday, you should have told the rest of us you were going after him. Both of you remember that for next time.”

“Now then,” he adds as the ropes finally fall away. “Let’s get out of here and back to the others.” He turns on his heel, and Billy’s quick to catch up with him, while Vasquez and Faraday fall into step behind the pair.

“For the record,” Faraday murmurs quietly, “that means he thinks I was more right than you.”

Vasquez elbows him in the stomach.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Bad Things card returns! This one is Varaday and painful wound cleaning - although the cleaning is minimal at best. Mainly I wanted an excuse to write some awkward cuddling :D

“Hurts, guero.”

Faraday twitches at the faintly mumbled words, and when he turns around, he finds that Vasquez’s eyes have cracked open, the faintest flash of brown showing between the lids.

“Well, of course it hurts,” Faraday grumbles, hiding his relief at even this much interaction behind his usual bluster. “Y’fell off a damned cliff, idiot. You’re lucky you ain’t dead.”

It hadn’t exactly been a cliff, he supposes, if only in the far recesses of his own mind. More of a reasonably steep ledge they’d been forced to scramble down to evade the pursuers that outnumbered them four to one. Provided with enough time to get down it properly, he’s sure they’d have been fine, but the situation had forced them to move faster than was safe, and a misplaced step had sent Vasquez tumbling down the slope with enough force to rattle anyone’s brains.

He’d skidded to a halt with a pained yelp, and it hadn’t taken an expert to see that his left arm was broken. Caught between the rocks he’d hit and his own body, no limb would bend at that particular angle unless something was seriously wrong.

Faraday fights down the urge to shudder at the memory of helplessness that had washed over him as he’d realized the extent of their situation. With Vasquez in a state that was going to seriously undermine his ability to fight and the bad guys closing in fast .... well. It was lucky the rest of their friends showed up when they did.

But showed up they had, and it hadn’t taken long to deal with the enemy of the day once their numbers were bolstered so much. Faraday knows he and Vasquez are a formidable pair all on their own. Add their five companions to the mix, and they’ve already proven they’re practically unstoppable.

As such, their foes had scurried off with their tails between their legs, and Faraday had turned his attention to where a white faced Vasquez was being helped into a sitting position by Red, his arm cradled against his side to avoid jarring it, bleeding in half a dozen places, and with bruises starting to blossom over his skin.

“Bad break,” Red had grunted, his own placid expression denying the note of concern that his voice couldn’t quite hide. “He should see a doctor.”

It’s not often one of them suffers an injury bad enough to require the help of a professional. In fact, it hadn’t happened since Rose Creek, as they’re a pretty self-sufficient bunch, with more than one of them knowing his way around basic first aid.

Unfortunately, the lucky streak where health is concerned appeared to have run out. Equally unfortunately, it’d done so for arguably the worst of their members it possibly could.

“No, no doctor,” Vasquez had said through gritted teeth. “It’s too risky. We don’t know the town. My face could be everywhere.”

Which was true. They’d been approaching the town when they’d gotten jumped, but hadn’t yet arrived in it. Without knowing if Vasquez’s warrant was plastered around anywhere within the boundaries, it wasn’t safe to bring him down. Especially in such a vulnerable state.

Faraday had stood there, chewing the inside of his mouth in agitation. He’d just been about to suggest they try it anyway, the strained line of Vasquez’s shoulders well and truly getting to him, when Jack had beaten him to the punch.

“You need help, son, and we all know it. There’s six of us with you if things look to be going south. That should be enough to keep any of the locals in check, even if you’re recognized. I say we do it.”

His piece said, the old tracker had lapsed into silence, folding his arms over the ample girth of his stomach, and staring steadily as if daring any of them to contradict him.

Seeing the sense in his words, no one had, and Faraday and Red had helped Vasquez climb painfully into the saddle of his horse to begin the trek into town.

He’d put his foot down about going into the doctor’s office itself, which had led to Billy and Goodnight heading out to fetch him, while Faraday stayed with him in room at the boardinghouse, and Red, Sam, and Jack milled about down below.

Billy and Goodnight had returned after what felt like far too much time had passed, bringing with them a man not much larger than the pair of them, carrying a heavy black bag that signified his trade.

The doctor was an older man, past middle aged, but not quite verging into elderly, and he’d clucked his tongue irritably at the sight of Vasquez’s arm. “Took a nasty fall, did you?” He’d asked, likely having spotted the other assorted cuts and bruises the outlaw had picked up, and coming to a conclusion. “Horse throw you?”

“Not quite,” Vasquez had muttered, and then flinched when the doctor had moved to touch the battered limb. “That hurts, cabron!”

“You’re not the first Mexican I’ve treated, boy,” the doctor had shot back, his hands moving with reassuring steadiness as he’d examined the injury. “I know what that means.”

As Vasquez continued to glare, Faraday, who’d stepped forward without meaning to at the sound of his companion’s pained hiss, balled his hands into fists and stuffed them in his pockets to avoid doing anything stupid. Like reaching out to run his fingers through Vasquez’s hair, or something equally foolish.

“Can you fix him?” He’d asked, pitching his voice to sound casual, as if the answer was of no real consequence to him. “He’s gonna bitch something awful if you can’t.”

The doctor had sniffed. “I can set the bone, clean the cuts and give him a draft for the pain, but the only thing that’s going to ‘fix’ him is time. The arm will mend, but it’ll take weeks. Probably about six of them. More if he doesn’t rest it properly.”

Vasquez’s glare had been impressive, carrying with it enough weight to temporarily override the pain that’d been creasing his face, but Faraday’d glared at him right back.

“You heard the man,” he’d growled, shooting out a hand to stop Vasquez when he’d tried to move. “Save it, muchacho,” he’d added when Vasquez had opened his mouth to protest. “Stay still, and let the doc work.”

Glaring again, Vasquez had done so. Settling back against his pillows, he’d moved as little as possible while the doctor had set his arm and cleaned the worst of his remaining injuries. He’d said nothing during the treatment, but he’d been pale faced and sweating by the time it was over, his exhaustion evident.

“Get this in him if you can,” the doctor had said as he’d stood. Handing Faraday a small bottle of something, he’d nodded at Vasquez’s prone form. “A spoonful every four hours shouldn’t kill him, and it might just improve him.”

Faraday’d had his doubts as to the truth of that statement, but he’d nodded and agreed to follow the doctor’s orders. It hadn’t been easy - the medicine smelled vile, and no doubt tasted even worse - but he hadn’t taken no for an answer, and eventually Vasquez had fallen into a restless sleep.

Which lead them to now. Faraday’s been engaging in his own bout of restlessness while Vasquez had been out, but he finds himself standing alertly to attention under the weight of the other man’s confused gaze.

Vasquez blinks up at him, his eyes glassy, and he shifts just enough to jar his splinted arm before he realizes it’s a bad idea. “Hurts,” he says again. “Make it stop?”

He sounds like he’s asking, like in his disheveled state he might possibly think there’s some way Faraday can fix things, can make his pain vanish like he does a playing card during one of his tricks. Faraday will denying to his last breath the way that very notion tugs at his heart strings.

“I can’t do anything, Vas,” he says wretchedly, and the way Vasquez’s face falls makes it one of the hardest things he’s ever had to admit. “The doc says you only get medicine every four hours. It’s been less than three.”

Vasquez whines, there’s no other word for it, and he looks up at Faraday with pleading eyes. “You don’t care about following orders,” he pants, the sentence almost too much for him. “Not ever.”

“Not usually,” Faraday corrects. He remembers lying in bed in the aftermath of Rose Creek, wishing and praying for anything to bite back the pain, only to be told he’d already been pumped full of as many drugs as they could give him. “Right now, yes.”

“Hurts,” Vasquez says, apparently developing a refrain. “Joshua, it hurts.”

“I know,” Faraday agrees, wishing that meant anything. “I know, Vas, but I can’t stop that. Sorry.”

Giving in to the urge that’s been plaguing him since Vasquez had first woken up, he settles carefully next to him on the mattress, and rests a hand on the man’s forehead.

“I know it hurts,” he says, wanting to be soothing, but suspecting he’s not overly good at it. He starts sweeping his hand back and forth in gentle arcs, stroking Vasquez’s hair on the off chance it helps, vaguely recalling the outlaw doing the same for him when their positions were reversed. “Just hold on for a little while and then I’ll help you take something for it.”

Vasquez presses back against Faraday’s hand, the opposite of trying to dislodge him. “Tastes bad,” he mumbles, the words gusting out over the skin of Faraday’s palm thanks to the angle he’s at.

Faraday huffs out a weak laugh. “You can swallow anything, don’t lie. I’ve seen you chow down on Goodnight’s cooking. Plus, it’ll make you feel better.”

Vasquez groans out a noise that might be agreement, but could just as easily be abject denial. Knowing the feeling, Faraday leans further down, shifting until he’s almost flat on the mattress.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, taking care not to jostle the other man. “I’ll stay with you ‘til it’s time.”

“...okay,” Vasquez decides. Obviously accepting the compromise, he burrows into Faraday’s chest, and together they wait for the minutes to tick by.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My creative juices have dried the fuck up recently, and I’m desperately trying to get back into the writing swing of things. Therefore have an extremely late Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt (of which I have several others still to get through.) for Fornhaus, who asked for Varaday and buried alive. Sorry it’s so late!!

They tell him he barely survived, that he was found lying in the field, shot up and torn to ribbons, with more of his blood soaking into the ground than remaining in his body. They hadn’t even realized he was still alive at first, had in fact simply assumed he was dead, and made to lay him alongside the other bodies.

It was only as they’d gone to lift him that someone (no, not just someone, he knows exactly who) had felt the faintest beating of his pulse, and demanded he be rushed to the makeshift infirmary instead.

No one expected him to live. Hell, most of them hadn’t expected him to still be breathing after the trek in from the fields, but live he had. Barely, at first, yet more assuredly with each day that passed.

It’d been weeks before he could even utter a few coherent words. Most of his time awake prior to that, blessedly brief though it was, all he’d been able to do was groan in agony, thrashing weakly against the pain while strong hands did their best to hold him steady, and a voice pleaded with him to lay still, to not make it worse. He’d clung to that voice like a lifeline. Maybe now he still does.

Months had passed, so much time necessary for him to recover from his wounds. Not that he will ever fully recover, mind you. His scars are too great, the blast was too forceful. He’ll carry these marks for the rest of his days, practically a patchwork man in so many respects.

Yet that’s not the worst of it all. He hurts, he groans, and he begs for the pain to stop, but he also heals. Slowly, oh so slowly, the worst of the wounds close, the stitches come out, and after days upon days upon days, he’s allowed up from the bed that’s held him prisoner for so long.

It should be a success, should feel like a prize that he’s won after so much time trapped on his back, and at first it does. He makes it down the stairs to words of congratulations, folks happy to see him mobile again, no matter how limited the capacity, and he sits at a table surrounded by his companions, pleased to all be in one place again at last.

They tell him what happened, spinning the tale like it was some crazy adventure, which he supposes it was. Some of it, most of it, he can recall, it’s only the aftermath he has no memory of, and the gaps are filled in as they eat.

That’s when the dreams start.

In a way he’d been expecting them. He’s no stranger to nightmares, not given the things he’s already seen and done in this life. Yet, if he’d had to guess, he’d have expected the dreams to be about dying, about bleeding out on that field before anyone could reach him. Or, if not that, about waking up to discover some or all of his limbs were gone, that his arms, his legs, everything had been taken from him.

Instead he dreams about the ground. He dreams that no one realized in time how he was still breathing, about being laid next to other corpses, wrapped in a shroud, and then being sealed away in a pine box placed beneath the earth.

He dreams about waking up inside a coffin, about hearing dirt hit the lid as they’d started to dump shovel fulls atop it. He dreams about being too weak to call out, to struggle, and about slowly running out of air with no one up above the wiser.

He begs, he cries for anyone to listen to him, and he can practically feel his fingers tear, blood pooling from his skin as he claws at the cheap wood, desperate to get out.

Then there’s a pressure against his arms, pinning them down while a familiar voice calls his name, and just like that it’s over. His eyes snap open, and he surges upwards, amazed to find that he’s back in the bed he’s been using as his own for so many months now.

He catches sight of worried brown eyes, hears distantly the words that he’s okay, that he’s safe, but he needs to move, to breathe. Shoving the blankets off him, he lunges from the bed, almost tripping on the second pile of bedding spread out on the floor as he stumbles to the window.

Throwing the wooden shutters open, he leans partway out over the sill, sucking in huge lungfuls of air as he tries his damndest to calm the frantic pounding of his heart.

Distantly, he registers the feel of hands on him, the same hands that had held him down when he’d thrashed enough to tear his stitches. The same hands that had realized there was still life in his broken battered body when nobody else had. Shuddering, he lets them enfold him in an embrace.

“Oh, querido,” a gentle voice says. “What happened?”

“Nothin’,” Faraday mutters. As lies go it is far from his best, but against all odds it makes Vasquez laugh, even as he starts running one hand over Faraday’s back, while the other tucks him in close.

“So stubborn,” he says fondly, and how he can sound fond at a moment like this, when he’s just been dragged out of a sound sleep and nearly trampled in Faraday’s mad dash to the window, is anybody’s guess. “It’s alright, you can tell me.”

Faraday knows that. Vasquez has been his most constant companion since he’d woken up (and really before that as well), and they’ve talked many a night away while he was still too weak to move. Though their conversations had never been quite like this.

“M fine,” Faraday mutters, despite all evidence to the contrary. “Sorry I woke you,” he adds, and moves to shift away. It works about as well as he’s expecting, and he supposes he should be honest and admit he doesn’t try all that hard to break free. “You can let go.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Vasquez replies, and just for a moment his hold actually tightens. “I have spent a lot of time sharing this room with you, and you have never sounded like you did just now. Tell me what happened.”

Faraday makes a face, relieved that the angle he’s at means Vasquez can’t see it. “Bad dream,” he mumbles, hoping that’ll be all he needs to cop to. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Mhm.” The noise Vasquez makes it flat, indicating he doesn’t agree. “What happened in the dream?”

That much Faraday doesn’t think he can answer. He wracks his brain, thinking furiously as he tries to come up with something that would work. Finally, he makes a decision.

“You’ll make sure I’m really dead before you put me in the ground, right?” It’s not a word for word description of what happened, but he hopes it gets the point across. “Vas?”

There’s a barely noticeable pause in Vasquez’s movements. Just for an instant, his hand stills, only to start right back up again, once more running in soothing circles over the expanse of Faraday’s back. “Okay, Joshua,” he says seriously. “I promise.”

It’s such a bizarre thing to be worried about, and yet Faraday sags with relief, going weak in Vasquez’s arms like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “Thanks,” he mumbles, the words getting lost somewhere in the juncture between Vasquez’s neck and shoulder. “Thank you.”

There’s another pause in the rubbing, and this time Vasquez says, “You have to promise me something too though.”

Faraday’s not sure he can do that, isn’t sure he has it in him to commit to anything in the here and now, but if it means Vasquez will maintain his hold he guesses he can try. “What is it?”

“You have to promise that will be a long, long time from now,” Vasquez decides, his voice serious. “No more stupid choices like with the Gatling gun. No more loco last stands without backup.”

“I had backup,” Faraday points out. “You from down below in the church, and Goodnight and Billy from up in the steeple.”

Vasquez growls low in his throat, Faraday can feel the sound reverberate thanks to how closely they’re pressed together. “Not what I meant, guero,” he scolds, “and you know it.”

Faraday does know it. Just like he knows that’ll never be a promise he can one hundred percent commit to. Oh he can try, certainly, but guarantee it? Not a chance.

He says as much, and rather than make another annoyed noise like Faraday’s half expecting, Vasquez chuckles. “Alright,” he says, resting his chin on top of Faraday’s head. “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get.”

“Sorry?” Faraday offers, but Vasquez shushes him.

“It’s more than I might have expected,” he says. “Do you think you can sleep again now?”

Startled, Faraday turns to look back at his bed, and also at the mass of blankets on the floor, the ones Vasquez has been using since there’s limited space, and he’s in better shape than so many others. “I ... I don’t know.”

Vasquez follows his gaze, and then huffs out a tiny laugh. “Maybe it’s time to stop pretending, hmm?”

Faraday starts to ask what that means, even though if he’s being honest he already knows, but he’s stopped when Vasquez’s mouth closes over his own. The kiss leaves him as breathless as he was before, but this time he has no regrets and lets himself fall into it with all the eagerness he can muster.

“That’s cheating,” he says when they break apart, and Vasquez’s eyebrows rise.

“I fail to see how,” he murmurs, and then he leans in again before Faraday can explain himself.

At that point Faraday figures the bed’s going to be a bit of a squeeze with both of them in there, but also decides he’s not settling for anything less.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to wander over to my tumblr and leave me a prompt off my card!


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